


The Tipping of the Scales

by laurenwrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenwrites/pseuds/laurenwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Enjolras is the head of the political activist group, Les Amis. Grantaire was once his best friend. They're reunited, but at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is co-written by the lovely consultingcountries on Tumblr. We decided to split each chapter in half, with myself writing Enjolras and her writing Grantaire. The original idea came from this post (http://soyonscruels.tumblr.com/post/44865939121/look-i-get-that-people-like-writing-about-les) 
> 
> After a hell of a lot of planning on both of our parts, we're really excited to share this with everyone!
> 
> (I'm talkofrevolution on Tumblr for anyone wishing to know)

It was early, definitely too early. Grantaire knew that there were just two types of people that occupied the streets at this ungodly hour; boring desk-job day workers and the shameless. Grantaire was most definitely part of the latter category. He was restless - preoccupied - as took his usual route from his tiny closet-like apartment to the nearest off-licence.

When he reached the intersection, he groaned inwardly. The streets were filled with people; bustling and restless. He began pushing through the throngs of women, men and in some disturbing cases, children. Grantaire wasn't particularly violent by nature but he suddently felt homicidal. It was almost sickening to see the sheer amount of fools who believed that their presence here today was somehow making a difference. Living in New York, he was by no means a stranger to protests, but this was just ridiculous. 

Then again, Grantaire had never been one to get involved in politics. Too much debating over useless concepts, if you asked him. In fact, the only thing politics was good for was to create rivalries between men who already had too much power to begin with. They spent their entire lives and finances on trying to become bigger and greater than their peers, trying to take over everything and everyone. They spent little time on the very entity they had been sworn into office for, the people.

A true Nihilist, he didn't care much for anything, really. The only thing that could give him happiness was a bottle of wine and an attractive conquest. He strayed far away from situations that would cause him - or others - to hurt in any way, keeping his distance from people and covering his indifferent nature behind a facade of alcohol. The one time he had let someone past that particular barricade, they had smashed him to pieces and left him a wreck, one bound to turn back to the bottle for comfort. A demon disguised in the wirey form of a 'quick fix'. 

It was after that fallout with his best friend that he became even more dependent on alcohol to solve every problem. Before, he only used it for entertainment or as an ice-breaker when in new groups. Everyone loved his good-will and charm which only seemed to come out when the bottle touched his lips. Other times, he was cynical and uninterested with anything and everything going on in the world. It mattered little to him who as in office or who had the power. So long as it didn't affect his capability to get a drink, he couldn't care less.

But there were many people who did. Those people who cared about what happened to their city, those people who _would_ fight for the greater good and campaign for true change.

Lately, he had felt the winds of revolt stirring in his own city. He knew of the discontent of the majority of the population; their loathing of being put down, forgotten about. They were the pillars of society. The upper classes continued to hoard wealth whilst the poor were forced to pay larger taxes with no reward, and so the uprising had begun. At the forefront of this revolution, the group which had gathered the most support was _Les Amis_ , a radical activist group.

 _Les Amis_ were known for their perseverance, their pride in what they did and above all, their fearlessness. They were not afraid to be beaten and battered by police brutality; they were not scared of the people who didn't agree with their cause. They worked for change each and every day because they knew that any day might be their last.

While Grantaire couldn't care less about what they stood for, he admired the fact that they were willing to die for a cause. When you believe in nothing, you truly have nothing. He himself had a hard time finding a reason to get out of bed in the morning. To put your life on the line for whatever it is you believe in was a kind of courage he admired.

Grantaire made his way towards the edge of the park, deciding that it was high time for his first drink of the day. As he walked closer to the exit, he heard the angry honking of horns and some irritated yelling. He turned toward the commotion, intrigued.

Beyond the gates, the traffic was backed up and angry commuters and cab drivers stared at him from their windows. Shrugging, he looked down the street, trying to see what was causing the unrest. People blocked the sidewalks, obviously entranced by whatever was happening. Weaving throughout them and occasionally offering a quiet _'sorry'_ and _'pardon me'_ to anyone who gave him a dirty look. As he approached the intersection, he straightened out and was able to see what was going on.

A group of people, arm in arm and brandishing signs, sat in the middle of the road. They were spread from sidewalk to sidewalk, sitting quietly and staring straight ahead. Peeking through heads, he caught a glimpse of a man with golden hair who stood above the rest, covered by two others who appeared to be acting as bodyguards.

‘Are you all so content as to live in the shadows of men who do not care?’ As soon as the man spoke, Grantaire's eyes shot forward, immediately recognising the voice. ‘Do you care so little about your children, your children's children that you will just stand there and watch, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed while the men who are supposed to be protecting you sit there and eat up riches that could be ours? Will you let them deny you one of your most basic rights - the right to education - under the false pretences that you need to _pay_ to learn?’

His voice, clear and concise, brought back childhood memories from deep within Grantaire. He remembered the times when that voice would laugh along with him as he made some sarcastic remark about one of their truly awful teachers. They would stay up late, Grantaire nodding and smiling encouragingly whenever the owner of the voice went on and on about his passions, politics and the state of the people. He was the only one who could ever make Grantaire care about - well - anything. Then again, Enjolras had always had a special talent for speaking.

 

 

Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, Grantaire looked forward at the man who was once his best friend. Enjolras' eyes were alight, making eye contact with each and every person in the crowd. He made every person feel as if they mattered, if only for a short while. When his eyes met Grantaire's, it was no different. A variety of emotions flickered in their gaze; Confusion, recognition, and finally joy. A wide grin broke out on his face and Enjolras nodded his head; storm-blue eyes calling Grantaire over.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras never understood those who stood in the shadows, those who sat back as friends or even strangers fought for their right to justice. It seemed selfish, almost sinful to simply wait for a change that others had to work, had to die for. So he reached out to those on the side-lines, matching every intrigued gaze with a silent question. _Will you stand with me? Will you fight for your children, your family, and a future to believe in?_ His eyes sought out the shades, the heartless and the powerful – every man and woman an equal in his fiery gaze. They were never just numbers to Enjolras, they were individuals.

The faces of the people seemed to meld together, but one in particular caught his attention. Raven-black curls messy under a red knit cap. Pale features and flushed cheeks; sliver-blue eyes bright and yet sorrowful in the blinding afternoon light.

  _Grantaire._

He looked tired, worn – somehow different from the man he used to know. He stumbled under his regard, and for a moment Enjolras wondered if he’d perhaps forgotten. His smile faltered, but still he silently called him over. There had been a time when Grantaire would have been here with him, on the front-line. But that was before the alcohol. Allowing himself one last look, Enjolras saw him carelessly pushing through the crowd; a lofty grin firmly planted on his lips. He almost looked like himself.

But Enjolras couldn’t afford to dwell on his lost friend, not now and certainly nothere.

Cries of surprise and growls of anger brought him back to the present. He turned, seeing a wall of polycarbonate shields moving closer as the police advanced on his group. He stepped down from his place, merging into one of the crowd to face the oncoming storm.

The police pushed against the growing swarm, plastic shields forming a wall against their bodies. They barked commands, violently urging the protestors to give way. Enjolras felt the anger and fear of the people wrap around him, the driving force for every word he spoke. They wanted change, longed for it, and Enjolras was the face of that change; terrible in his passion. 

Flanked by Courfeyrac and Jehan, Enjolras stood his ground. He glanced around, looking fruitlessly for the rest of _Les Amis._ He was suddenly glad they were out of sight, lost among the mass of people who had joined their cause at the last second. The thought of anyone getting hurt – _or worse_ – was unbearable to Enjolras. But riots had a habit of turning nasty, no matter how much _Les Amis_ tried to be peaceful. If Enjolras felt guilty, he couldn’t let it affect him here. He motioned for Bahorel and Feuilly to move forward, urging them to help and prevent anyone who wasn't a expenced member from being hurt. Enjolras spared a thought for Grantaire, no doubt lost in the confusion. If the man was wounded, it was undoubtedly his fault.

However, he reminded himself that merely wishing for transformation didn’t make it so. If this was the price then so be it.

By now the officers were growing restless, shouting profanity at the crowd, trying to create the violence required for an arrest. It was unfair, unjust. He could only watch as rage took over the people one by one. In that moment, Enjolras loathed the authority more so than ever – the fire inside him grew from a spark to a flame, the embers alight in his eyes and face.

He wanted to say something – anything – to calm the current storm of people writhing against the barriers, but it was too loud. He couldn’t shout above the noise. The traffic had come to a standstill as people bolted from the streets; the catalyst for control by force. Men clad protective armour filtered through the chaos, taking down anyone and anything that dared put up a decent fight.  Enjolras momentarily froze, mourning the loss of the supposedly peaceful protest.  _This was all wrong._

But human beings are destructive by nature; both sides were causing equal damage but the police had weapons, armour and the law. The people had nothing but each other. The hope they had shared was clearly dwindling by the second. Regarding the spectacle before him, Enjolras surged into action. He stopped to help up a man lying injured on the street, passing him to Joly for medical attention before quickly moving on. Jehan and Courf followed close behind, Bahorel and Feuilly leading as they formed a protective circle around him. Enjolras always hated this part. He was tired of the hiding, and the running away. He wanted to stay and fight with those he’d inspired into action but he also knew that without him, there would be nobody to take the reins in quite the same fashion. And so he ran, repeating the same phrase again and again inside his brain ‘ _for the greater good_ ’. 

However, Enjolras wasn’t even sure he believed himself anymore. 

Stumbling through the lingering horde of people, they made their move; their signs and banners long abandoned into the confusion.  

They came to a sickening stand-still as a barrier of police formed at the end of the boulevard in an attempt to catch the few remaining members of _Les Amis_. It wasn’t their first protest and it _certainly_ wouldn’t be their last. Enjolras mentally cursed the Perspex screens in front of them, wishing for a redemption that ultimately never seemed to come.  Giving in was never an option. He pushed forward, out of the protection of his friends.

‘Freedom of expression is a human right.’ Enjolras called out, raising his head in defiance as the police moved closer. He spat out his words to the shield in front of him, the man behind faceless and unfeeling. ‘Are you really so uncivilised as to deny something so primitive?’

The guard was pushed forward, the shield connecting with his face with a sickening crack. He hardly had time to register the blow before he was flung backwards, an arm on his shoulder pushing him behind. Vision blurred, he could all but make out a flash of red – although he couldn’t tell whether this was his own blood or something else entirely. Jehan was supporting him as Courf and Bahorel pulled back another man; the personification rage as he threw himself toward the officers. He was screaming curses, thrashing against the men holding him back. He was wild, animalistic in his movements. It took Enjolras all of three seconds to place the voice. It seemed Grantaire had been here all along, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

Rage blurred his vision further. How could Grantaire be so irresponsible, so thoughtless in his actions? He should have stepped back. He should have left it alone. _He shouldn’t even be here._

With a mouth filled with blood, Enjolras felt truly nauseous. The pain in his lip was nothing but an irritation compared with the current state of his head. Unable to speak, he growled in frustration, motioning the group to fall back. He glanced at Grantaire, holding up a hand to let the other man know he was okay. It was a small gesture, but it seemed to calm him to a certain degree as he then followed the rest of the group willingly.

Yes, humans were destructive, reckless and downright infuriating at times. But Enjolras was nothing if not idealistic, and he truly believed they were worth fighting for. He didn’t quite understand Grantaire’s sudden interest in their cause, but he was unwillingly impressed by his foolish dedication. It was something to work on. Enjolras mentally scoffed as he realised he was getting ahead of himself; after all they had to get ‘home’ first.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire was tired, but that was nothing new. His outburst at the protest had left him angry and riled up, but look at the blood dripping from Enjolras’ face made that rage turn to worry. Moving to help, he quickly grabbed one of Enjolras’ arms and helped keep him upright. He looked around, unsure of what to do. A few moments later, Enjolras’ bodyguards came towards them, taking the disoriented man from his arms and nodding to Grantaire, their obvious respect showing in their eyes. They walked him away Grantaire falling behind and not saying anything. He thought it best to keep quiet, to observe. He simply couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions, he’d let Enjolras do that for him. Grantaire silently hoped for an understanding; he couldn’t just sit back. _It wasn’t in his nature._

After their protest had gone awry, _Les Amis_ had quickly fallen back to their designated rendezvous point - the apartment of Combeferre. Grantaire followed. Though new to the inner workings of the group, it felt nice to be included. He took care not to lose sight of Enjolras’ golden hair; it was the only thing keeping him among _Les Amis,_ and he wasn’t ready to let his friend slip through his fingers again.

As they reached the apartment, Grantaire held back, letting everyone past before he entered. He observed each member of the group, committing faces to memory; listening to each name and how each individual conducted themselves. In his mind, he felt the slightest bit out of place. He had no role to play, no job to occupy himself with as the others bustled around the large loft-style apartment. 

Five people stood out among the rest: Combeferre, Eponine, Joly, Jehan and Courfeyac. Each had their own job, and they all completed them with the upmost precision and urgency. Eponine, who hadn’t been at the rally, opened up the doors to the apartment, her face falling when Jehan and Courfeyac practically carried in their leader. Placing a hand under his jaw, she lifted his head. Enjolras let out a small hiss of pain before attempting to smile in reassurance. Shaking her head, Eponine lead them into one of the bedrooms where under the medical advice of Joly, and much to the protest of Enjolras, he was to stay for the next hour or so until the medic could get to his side.

In Enjolras’ absence, Eponine took charge. She sent Jehan and Courfeyrac, Enjolras’ bodyguards, back and forth from the stock room where they kept the medical supplies. Whatever Joly needed, they were instructed to bring; their loyalty to Eponine almost rivalling their loyalty to Enjolras himself. Grantaire made a mental note to learn more about her.

The next busiest person was Joly, their makeshift doctor. He ran from person to person, applying cold packs to bruises; cleaning and bandaging the smaller wounds. After attending to each person, Joly gave them a glass of water and, thanked them for their support, sending them on their way.

Jehan and Courfeyac, aside from their role as Joly’s assistants, were busy comforting people who weren’t as experienced with the entire process of a revolt. Many people were first time protesters, either new members of _Les Amis,_ or people who had just gone with them in the spur of the moment. They were not ready for the dedication that being a member required. Many men and women were hysterical, crying or simply angry at the unexpected turn of events. Jehan and Courfeyrac appeared to have a soothing influence. They focused on keeping the environment calm, or as calm as it could be in the aftermath of a protest.

And lastly, there was Combeferre. He sat in the corner, phone in one hand and a small black book the other. He dialled the numbers of many different lawyers, grilling each one about their records and whether or not they would represent a member of _Les Amis_ in the event of an arrest. He recorded the names of the lawyers who were worth remembering, discarding the others with a sigh.

From Grantaire’s vantage point, the entire inner-workings of _Les Amis_ depended on those five people and Enjolras himself. But seeing as Enjolras was incapacitated at the moment, his inner circle did a good job of keeping things running smoothly. Everyone had a job, and they all performed them with ease.

Despite this, Grantaire could see the toll it was taking on them. Eponine, who’s spirits were high at first, looked pensive, worried with every second Enjolras was out of commission. She tried to stay strong for the sake of everyone who was looking to her for guidance, but Grantaire could tell that she wasn’t used to the leadership position. Jehan and Courfeyac’s patience was also wearing thin; each person who complained received a dirty look and muttered curses. Grantaire was almost surprised when one man threatened to sue _Les Amis_ for the broken arm his girlfriend had suffered. It took two more people to hold Jehan back before he gave the man a broken rib. To be quite honest, Grantaire didn’t blame him at all. It was hard, and some people never seemed to see beyond the injuries of their loved ones long enough to look at the bigger picture. The truth was, everyone was hurting.

Grantaire slid down to the floor, sitting in the corner and as far away from anyone as he could possibly get. For the time being, he needed to be alone with his thoughts; the constant push and pull of bodies from earlier had left him shell shocked - he wasn’t a man who was fond of physical contact. He was more likely to shy away from other people, not wanting them to get too close. The only person who had ever gotten close was Enjolras, and with the way their relationship had ended, Grantaire wasn’t ready to let another person in.

The time he spent by himself left him alone with nothing but his thoughts and an open bottle. While the bottle normally made those thoughts go away, there were certain times when he couldn’t help but remember the times he had spent with Enjolras and how they had made him feel.

He had the utmost respect for his Apollo - a childhood name Grantaire had applied to the other, one that had stuck throughout the years. His utter devotion and passion for anything he believed in had mystified and entranced Grantaire from a young age. And Grantaire’s willingness to listen to every one of Enjolras’ opinions - even when he didn’t believe himself - had made Grantaire a friend who Enjolras was intent on keeping.

Over the years of his friendship, Grantaire’s respect had turned into something more, something close to affection. Whenever Enjolras joined a new club or got himself involved in a new cause, Grantaire was close after, not willing to let his golden-haired angel leave him behind. Any time he was alone, Grantaire quickly turned to a bottle for comfort, and it was this dependence that had made Enjolras leave him for good.

But even though he was gone, Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras had never left. He was still madly in love with him, his passion. Being separated had only made it hurt even worse. Sighing, Grantaire looked up, letting his eyes focus back on the world around him. Though things had settled down slightly, the apartment was still full of people who were waiting. For what, Grantaire didn’t know. All he wanted was for Enjolras to come out so he could be reassured that the man was okay; Joly’s absence made Grantaire believe that he was being checked on now. He only had to wait a bit longer before his worries would be washed away, just like they were when he had a bottle in hand.

* * *

_Stay awake._ He repeated the words in his mindbut the action was repetitive, almost relaxing in the seemingly blinding lights of Combeferre’s room. _Stay awake._ Imagining the words inside his head was harder, a task to keep himself alert, but was it enough? _Stay awake._ The problem was, his entire being seemed to disagree. _Stay awake._ He wasn’t allowed to sleep, Joly had been quite insistent about this matter.  _Stay awake_. He was nauseous and irritable; the people in the surrounding rooms were being too loud for his throbbing skull. Enjolras felt their words as garish vibrations, their movements as brash and bracing waves.  He wanted to lash out – to make it stop.

Focusing on this anger, he wrapped his consciousness around it; an anchor in the confusion of his own mind. It seemed to Enjolras more alive than static, a writhing sense of humanity in the purest sense of the word.  _Stay awake_ became a simple _stay_ ; rhythmic and sure. It almost sounded like a heartbeat, an echoing reminder of his own raised pulse.

_Stay._

Enjolras was patient as Joly cleaned the gash across his lip, looked at the bruising across his chest and arms. He felt his anger slip away as the cooling influence of the ice-pack worked its very own brand of medicine. The blurring lines of his vision became steady, focused. The room was no longer spinning but simply tilting back and forth as if at sea. Sipping a glass of water only added to the sensation, the water sloshing unsteadily inside him as it went down. Then again, it was better than the blood that had previously occupied his mouth.  

He tried to stand, the world momentarily wavering in response.

‘Enjolras, sit down!’  Joly stumbled as he ran to his aid, supporting him before carefully guiding him onto the bed. Muttering under his breath, Joly placed a hand on Enjolras’ forehead before replacing the ice-pack with a newer, colder version. He quickly shone a pen light into his eyes and nodded to himself, somewhat pleased with the result. 

Enjolras glared at him, although it was a mostly empty gesture. How could he truly be mad with a man trying to look after him? After all, there must be people out there with worse injuries than him. Guilt stirred in his chest, a wild animal consuming its prey. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Enjolras was expected to be a stoic, decisive figure – calm in the face of arrogance, of ignorance and illness. He couldn’t keep everyone safe, it simply wasn’t possible. After today’s events, he wasn’t even sure of his own safety anymore. It was nothing new, nothing surprising to a man supposedly _without_ fear.

‘I need to speak to him.’ Enjolras leant back against the headboard, bracing himself as the sharp pain in his head returned along with the nausea. _Standing had definitely been a bad idea._ He mentally cursed the police, the government – everyone involved in making those God forsaken shields.

‘I’m sorry, who?’ Joly gazed at the other man, the personification of confusion. Enjolras ran a hand across his own face, as if to wipe away the bought of dizziness he was currently experiencing.

‘Grantaire, obviously.’ His exasperated tone did nothing to deter his friend, who merely tilted his head; silently questioning who this man was. It suddenly occurred to Enjolras that the others knew nothing of his friend - _no_ \- his acquaintance? He momentarily paused, unable to find the correct term. Enjolras’ had grown up with Grantaire, and yet for the past year he’d be a ghost.  Unable to watch his friend become a prisoner of his own addiction, Enjolras had left, merely hoping for Grantaire to follow – for him to reconsider his own reckless actions. _He never did._ Enjolras wondered if alcohol had really meant more than their friendship, or if Grantaire had simply tired of his stubborn ways. The difficulty was, Enjolras saw a problem – _something broken_ – and strove to fix it. Grantaire simply didn’t want to be fixed.

_There was nothing else to be done, right?_

Enjolras had talked himself out of trials, out of incomprehensible situations, but not once had he succeeded in talking himself out of guilt. It was alive, a breathing and living being; a pest feeding from life itself. It was always there, in the background, somewhere deep inside. That’s the strange thing about guilt; it could be suppressed but _never_ forgotten.

‘Enjolras, I know you’re not exactly thinking straight but you’re going to have to be a little more specific.’

‘The idiot of a man who threw himself at a wall of armed police.’ He scoffed the words, still unable to believe how utterly foolish Grantaire had acted. Then again, perhaps this was a sign of hope. Maybe the other man was ready to reconsider.

Jolly’s eyes widened in recognition; he nodded before leaving to seek out Grantaire.  Enjolras spend his few minutes alone in complete silence, the steady thrum of the people around him both reassuring and grating. He closed his eyes, providing a small rest bite from the chaos. _Stay._ This was no time to fall asleep, no time to rest at all. Opening his eyes was difficult, but nonetheless it had to be done.

‘Jesus, you look like -’ Enjolras’ head whipped around, seeking out the familiar voice. Grantaire was clearly about to curse, but had thought better of it, leaving his thoughts unfinished. In any other circumstance Enjolras might have laughed; made a quip about his apparently lacking vocabulary. ‘Enjolras, I’m not sure what to say and - ’

‘No.’ He clutched his head, shifting the ice-pack. Looking directly at Grantaire, he noted the dark circles under his eyes; the slight pallor of his skin. He didn’t exactly look healthy, but then again neither did Enjolras. _Perhaps it was just the light._ ‘I don’t want to hear it, Grantaire. You need to listen to me.’

He let out a strangled laugh, bitter in tone, before mumbling under his breath.

‘I guess some things never change.’ 

Enjolras clenched his one free hand, rage filling his every movement. Taking a deep breath, he quietly let out a sigh of frustration. He’d imagined meeting Grantaire again many times, and yet this scenario had never once occurred to him. Quite frankly, it was infuriating.

‘You don’t just get to waltz in here and start making careless, senseless – quite frankly _stupid_ decisions that don’t only affect you but everyone else here right now. It’s not fair and I will not allow it. What the hell were you even _thinking_? Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that was? No you probably don’t because you don’t think; you _never_ think, Grantaire!’ He paused for breath, the stream of feelings coming out in rushed, hasty, phrases rather than his usual consistent speech. For someone ruled equally by his head and heart, having one almost out of use was both upsetting and inconvenient.

‘Maybe I wasn’t thinking because I was too busy trying to save your ass!’

‘I don’t need _saving_ , are you completely insane? I knew what I was walking in to; I knew exactly what I was doing and you just - ’ Enjolras sat forward, using his spare hand to emphasise his complete and utter frustration. Grantaire leaned against the nearest wall, his head tipped back in defiance. The lack of eye contact only made Enjolras angrier; it was disrespectful and insulting. _It was typical Grantaire._

‘Are you even serious right now? I wasn’t just going to stand aside, Enjolras! Who do you think I am?’

‘I don’t even claim to know the answer to that question. By now I’ve no doubt your more alcohol than man.’ There was no feeling in his voice, only a dry hint of disapproval. Enjolras thought he saw Grantaire wince. _Good._ He wanted him to hurt, to finally see what he’d done. It might have been harsh, but Enjolras wasn’t thinking anymore. ‘It wasn’t your place to step in, don’t you get that?’

‘Then whose fucking place is it? Because nobody else made a single move. Nobody.’

‘Did you even stop to think that’s because they know better?’

‘No I didn’t because I was thinking about you, you fucking idiot!’ He swiped a hand across his face, pushing off the wall as he moved closer to Enjolras. ‘I was worried about _you_. I wanted to help _you_. Heaven forbid someone actually cares about what happens to another human being. Quick someone alert the God damn media.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry; they probably got enough photos for a double page spread.’ He spat out the words, a look of pure loathing set on his face. In his rage, Enjolras was unforgiving and unyielding. He often mistook even the most well-intentioned actions, and this was certainly no different. In some part of his mind, he wanted to welcome his friend – help him integrate into Les Amis – but Grantaire was a loose cannon.

_Could he really be trusted?_

 ‘If you were expecting an apology you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’ Grantaire paced the room, taking in his surroundings as he walked the length.

_He was stubborn, but that could be useful for the group._

‘Grantaire, I wasn’t expecting an apology. I was, however, expecting you to recognise that what you did was reckless.’ Enjolras shifted his body to the edge of the bed, abandoning the ice-pack to obtain full use of his hands. With his feet on the floor, he already felt unstable but still he continued to stand. ‘I need to get out there; I can’t talk about this now.’

‘Woah, hold on a second. You’re hurt and we still haven’t discussed the hypothetical elephant in the room.’

‘Metaphorical.’ Enjolras automatically corrected, earning a not-so-subtle glare from Grantaire. He raised his eyebrows; Enjolras may have a head injury but that was no excuse for bad grammar. ‘There’s no time now, I have to - ’

‘Oh that’s right, you have far more important things to do than talk to me.’ Grantaire’s laughter was bitter and callous. Enjolras attempted to take a few steps but stumbled, frowning as the other man came to his aid once again. _He hated being needy; being weak._ He also knew that Grantaire deserved an explanation of why he had left all that time ago, but the people out _there_ needed him more. ‘Besides, I’m under strict orders from the medic; you’re not allowed to leave this room.’ 

‘I’m leaving alright, Joly can go to hell.’ Taking steps towards the door was difficult but with a sigh, Grantaire soon circled his arm around his waist. He muttered under his breath about leaving being a particular talent of Enjolras. That was a low blow, and Enjolras barely stifled his flinch. ‘We’ll talk, okay? Just not here.’

‘Okay.’ It was a single word, but a small victory nonetheless. Enjolras subtly smiled in response before he remembered his split lip. As they walked, he focused on breathing; a threatening sense of nausea firmly settled in his stomach.  Unwillingly, Enjolras slightly leaned on Grantaire, who was solid and sure.

When they reached the living room, Enjolras was met by more than a few stares. He focused on the smiles of his friends, the surprised and enigmatic wink of Courfeyrac as he noted Grantaire’s close presence. He scoffed, frowning in response as Grantaire helped him onto the sofa.

‘If you want me to leave, that’s fine I’ll just - ’

‘Sit down.’ Enjolras wasn’t about to let him leave. He had a feeling that Grantaire needed friends, needed something to believe in after all their time apart. It seemed strange that they had been arguing only moments ago, when Enjolras already felt their past friendship returning; however estranged it may be. Although, that could possibly be the head injury talking; either way it certainly didn’t help his thought process.

‘Enjolras, I specifically told you not to leave that room. I haven’t finished treating you, and you!’ Joly gestured to Grantaire, who merely grinned and shrugged in response from his seat next to Courfeyrac. ‘I told you he wasn’t supposed to be out here, it’s too light – too much stimulation for his brain – he shouldn’t be - ’

‘Lighten up; Grantaire here’s one of us now!’ Courf elbowed him in the chest good naturedly. ‘I think Enjy seems to like his new pet a little too much to let him loose.’

‘He’s a friend. We had a disagreement. We’re working on it. No, you don’t get to ask questions and no, I do not know if he’s one of us. You’ll have to ask him.’ Enjolras fixed his gaze on Grantaire, imploring him to see sense. Aware of his cynical attitude, Enjolras nodded, hoping that his friend would recognise that the people around him were truly _good._ He could learn a lot from Combeferre, the rational head of the group, from Jehan who loved and fought with the equal amounts of passion and kindness. 

‘I’m not saying yes, but what exactly would being in this little sleepover club of yours involve?’

Enjolras watched as the others began describing what exactly they did, how their protests work and in Courfeyrac’s case, the social aspects of _Les Amis._ Grantaire for the most part, seemed to come alive in the group, his natural wit and charm coming through with every remark, every action. It reminded Enjolras of the past, almost happy, version of his friend _._ It was a nice change.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Eponine, who ungracefully threw herself onto the couch next to him. She asked how he was feeling, how he knew Grantaire, what their next move was. Eponine was naturally inquisitive and so he answered, feeling a sense of pride in his small group of lieutenants. Being the leader of a group as diverse and as headstrong as _Les Amis_ was never an easy task, but Enjolras always felt it worthwhile. Of course, he kept his thoughts to himself as always, but Enjolras was contented to observe. Jehan pressed a much needed cup of coffee into his hands, and he thanked him before taking small sips. _They were more than a general political group; they were a family – arguments and annoyances included._


	3. Chapter 3

The days after Grantaire's first protest passed quickly. _Les Amis_ spent their time relaxing for the initial days, recuperating from any injuries and just settling down from all the events of the days past. For a while, Combeferre's apartment was filled with many people, even the smaller members of _Les Amis_ would stay around just for the sake of company. But as the days turned into weeks only a few people were left: Joly, Eponine, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Enjolras himself, not to mention their newest member in Grantaire.

This time spent alone with the central part of _Les Amis_ gave him time to become a part of the group. He spent all his free time with them, helping in any way he could. The only time he left the apartment was to run back to his place, packing a bag filled with clothes and anything else he thought he would need.

For a few weeks, Grantaire literally immersed himself in _Les Amis,_ learning more about them and what they did and taking whatever time he could to try and patch his relationship with Enjolras. It had been nearly a year since they had last talked; even the strongest of friendships deteriorate after such time - the fact that their friendship had been put under such strain didn't help in his efforts to keep the flame alive. His efforts hadn't been in vain; after a while, they were as close as they had once been.

But when he couldn't get to Enjolras, he always had something to do for the rest of _Les Amis_ to help. He would play secretary for Eponine, writing down anyone who called to make a donation to their cause or some other way. When needed, he would help Jehan and Courfeyrac unload the massive amounts of supplies they got for the next protest they planned. He would keep inventory for Joly, making sure they had enough medical supplies to last an apocalypse.

For a while, the busyness of the group kept him alert and on his toes and surprisingly sober. The only time a bottle would be within reach was at night, when everyone was carefree and loose.

After a particularly stressful day, the central group of _Les Amis_ were all curled up by the fireplace. Enjolras, who had slowly been recovering from his head injury, sat in an armchair, a blanket over his legs and a coffee cup in his hand. Eponine, who had had the bright idea to tell Joly about her bad history with sickness, was holding back laughter as the hypochondriac moved as far away from her as possible. Combeferre sat next to Eponine, reading a book and smiling at each and every one of Joly's reactions. Jehan and Courfeyrac were cuddled up together on the couch, the younger whispering words of poetry that could barely be heard over the cackle of the fire.

Grantaire sat on the floor, his feet entangled in the blanket and his fingers preoccupied with tapping out rhythms of his favourite songs. He stared into the fire, his mind wandering as he picked up the bottle of beer and took a swig.

'Grantaire.' Enjolras called out softly, bringing the man back to reality. He turned to look at the other, whose golden curls were illuminated by the flicker of the flames. 'You still play guitar, correct?'

'More often than not, my dear Apollo. Why? Would you like me to serenade you?' He replied suggestively, drawing a smile from both Jehan and Courfeyrac.

'Ah, there is a musician in our midst! You must play for us!' Jehan said, nearly tripping over the covers in his haste to run from the room. Seconds later he returned, an acoustic guitar in hand. 'I brought this over one night, hoping to provide some artistic relief for everyone but I got, how do you say, _distracted_.' He glanced towards Courfeyac with the last word, winking slightly.

With a smile, Grantaire took the guitar from Jehan, strumming and cringing at how out of tune the instrument was.

'When was the last time this was touched?' Grantaire inquired, blowing some dust off the neck and beginning to tune.

'Nearly a month ago? Just before summer break started, I presume.’ Jehan answered, settling himself back onto the couch. As Grantaire tuned the guitar, the notes started to sound more pure and mellow before they turned into an actual song.

His fingers traveled along the neck, fingering chords and plucking strings, producing a sweet harmony that made all conversations fall silent. The others watched him play, marveled by the speed and ease at which his fingers fabricated the song. It started out fast before gradually slowing down and keeping each listener entranced the entire time. Soon after, the song ended.

'Who knew an art major could play guitar so well?' Eponine chimed, a smile breaking out on her face as she clapped quietly. The others joined in, all offering their own words of praise.

'One of my many talents. I would spend days playing both by myself and with a certain vocal accompaniment.' His fingers moved across the strings once more, playing random notes that still managed to sound like a harmony.

'Oh really?' Jehan asked, interest shining in his eyes. 'Who would be lucky enough to be able to sing with you?'

'None other than Enjolras himself.' In response, Enjolras looked over, smiling softly and shaking his head.  He ran a hand through his hair and shifted on the couch as Eponine clapped her hands in enjoyment.

'You can sing? Why haven't you ever sung for us before?' She questioned, her tone accusing.

'It's not as if I'm any good; merely an ability I would use to get Grantaire to shut up for once about his musical prowess.'

'You are far too modest. His voice is as pure and angelic as the god of music himself. It would be such a waste, dear Apollo, to keep that bottled up! Sing for us!' Grantaire smiled, his fingers starting to fly over the strings as they began to play another song. As he recognised the tune, Enjolras smiled once more, putting down his coffee and taking a breath before beginning to sing.

_‘Can you lie next to her_

_And give her your heart,_

_Your heart,_

_As well as your body_

_And can you lie next to her_

_And confess your love,_

_Your love,_

_As well as your folly’_

Grantaire kept strumming, his smile growing ever wider as their leader sang for them. Since he knew the chords by heart, Grantaire could let his mind wander to other things as he played - though the scene that kept his interest was watching Enjolras sing.

It had been a year since they had made music together. Before the fallout, Grantaire would constantly bring his guitar over Enjolras' house and they would spend the day together, singing and playing covers of the songs they both loved. Often times they would go past the day and into the night, just relishing in each other's company and more times than not, one of their parents would have to come into the room and confiscate the guitar, leaving the boys with nothing but their thoughts and each other. Honestly, these days turned into nights were Grantaire's favourite part of his childhood. Any time spent with Enjolras held a special place in his heart.

Their leader kept singing, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire which framed his face and made all the worry lines and creases in his skin vanish in an instant. He belted out the lyrics with a strange sense of hesitation. For a moment, Enjolras seemed younger, lost in the music as Grantaire had been lost in his thoughts. Granted, he was only 20 years old, but the stress of the protests and being such a figure had made him seem much older. It was a relief for Grantaire to see this side of Enjolras again, one of the many sides that he loved.

The song ended and the rest of the _Amis_ clapped and cheered vigorously. Grantaire joined in, laughing along as Jehan pulled Enjolras up out of his seat and all but forced him to bow. He was blushing, Grantaire noted.

'It's been too long since we made music together, my dearest Apollo.' He said, smiling at the other.

'Indeed it has.'

 

* * *

  
  
When the song ended, Enjolras felt strangely self-conscious. After Jehan had forced him from his seat, he felt the sudden need to hide his face or do something – anything – to cover the irritating flush of his cheeks. As he took a vaguely awkward bow, he was almost grateful when the curls framing his face fell into his eyes, giving him a minute distraction from the situation at hand. In his mind, singing wasn’t like making a speech or giving a talk. For Enjolras it represented the terrifying idea of making his deepest and most private thoughts unbearably public. _It was personal._ He resented the idea of anyone or anything denying him his right to privacy, and yet somehow he’d willingly let Grantaire persuade him into an open performance. Then again, his friend always did have a way of bringing out the different, perhaps even jovial, side of Enjolras. It wasn’t a bad change, truth be told, decidedly welcome after a year of his absence.

Singing with Grantaire on his own felt natural, but with a small crowd watching it had seemed slightly intrusive. However, he had definitely enjoyed using his voice again. And perhaps he would get used to sharing this particular pass-time with his other friends.

‘I actually hate you for not sharing that with us before now.’ Eponine grinned, clapping Enjolras on the shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, attempting to busy himself with something other than his own embarrassment. ‘I’m going to have to ask for more, you do realise that?’

‘I think one song is quite enough for tonight.’ Enjolras laughed as he pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a sip before placing it on the counter. He started to dry the various mugs beside the sink, placing them in the correct cupboard in an orderly fashion. The menial task seemed to relax his brain, allowing him time to think about anything and everything.

This mainly consisted of a certain blue eyed, black haired man sitting in the living room, although he’d never tell. The past week had been almost too good to be true; they’d been getting along like they’d never been apart. For the most part, this pleased Enjolras greatly although he was also decidedly confused. They still hadn’t had a real talk about what had happened, and it weighed on his shoulders like a vice, crushing and unyielding. As a man of morals and good intentions, having such an issue constantly on his mind was somewhat disconcerting. Enjolras had always found talking about his own feelings particularly hard, and he wasn’t quite sure how to start such a conversation in the midst of the chaotic happenings of _Les Amis_.

Grantaire fit surprising well into the eclectic group. He’d quickly become fast friends with everyone, although he seemed closer to Eponine and Courfeyrac than anyone else. Enjolras bit back a subtle smile as he thought of their newest member’s attempts to cook for the group – that had _certainly_ been a sight to behold. Despite the obvious social aspects, Grantaire had proved himself willing to be involved with pretty much anything going on, from making banners to making tea for the masses. It was reassuring to Enjolras, who secretly hoped that Grantaire had truly found a cause he could believe in.

He was quickly pulled out of his thoughts as someone entered the kitchen, brushing against him as they reached around the sink to get a cup.

‘ _You’re_ putting away pots?’ It was Grantaire. Enjolras shook his head at the disbelief in the other man’s voice, noting the small grin on his face as he lifted himself onto the counter. From his seat beside the drying rack, Grantaire merely watched as he filled up his glass with a nearby bottle of whiskey.

‘Why, would you care to help?’

‘Oh no, I’m quite happy observing.’ Enjolras lifted his eyebrows as Grantaire feigned innocence, resting his glass on his knees between sips.

‘Of course you are.’ He mumbled, putting away the last of the mugs. Stepping back from the sink, he walked towards the doorway, ready to rejoin the rest of the group.

‘Enjolras?’ Grantaire waited as Enjolras turned to face him, lifting his head in recognition. ‘We never did have that talk. I just wondered – no – don’t worry about it.’

‘No, you’re completely right.’ Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. He looked towards the living room, conscious of the other people in the apartment. ‘Should we take this somewhere private?’

‘Oh, I thought you’d never ask.’ Grantaire winked, a gesture tinged with innuendo, as he slid off the counter. Enjolras rolled his eyes at the vain attempt of lightening the mood as they made their way into the study, a tiny room filled to the brim with Combeferre’s numerous books and papers. There was a small desk in one corner, dimly lit by a garish blue lamp; a gift from Courfeyrac. Grantaire quickly commandeered the one and only chair, lightly swiveling as he sat down. Enjolras didn’t mind, he preferred to stand and felt much too restless to sit.

‘You should start.’ Enjolras nodded, his voice soft, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Putting down his glass, Grantaire swung the chair to face him. He appeared to take a deep breath before speaking.

‘The last few weeks have been great, perfect really.’ He fiddled with a pen, clicking the nip in and out as he spoke. Enjolras found this slightly irritating, but understood his nerves and thus allowed him to continue. ‘But I still don’t get it, Enjolras. You left. You left me _completely_ alone. I keep asking myself how someone could possibly do that to a person they supposedly care about but I don’t understand. I know I messed up; I know you didn’t approve of the drinking. But you just left, and now it’s like nothing ever happened and that’s all well and good but it _did_ happen.’

‘I didn’t just leave, Grantaire. Did you seriously think I would have left if I didn’t expect you to follow?’ He’d never seen another human being look so hurt, so desperately lost. Enjolras bit down on his lip, questioning the other man with his eyes before continuing. ‘I thought that by leaving, you’d finally realise you had a real problem and that you’d stop. I thought you’d come with me and we’d start college together. Obviously, I was wrong. When you didn’t call I assumed you didn’t want to hear from me.’

‘You expected me to follow? Are you even serious right now, Enjolras?’ Grantaire stood up and began to walk towards Enjolras. He stopped halfway and laughed bitterly, his eyes glinting wildly. ‘I am not your puppet. You can’t just pull my strings and expect me to dance. Jesus, you’re such a fucking idiot! Of course I wanted you to call, I thought you _hated_ me.’

‘On second thought, maybe it wasn’t the best plan but - ’

‘ _Maybe it wasn’t the best plan?_ It was the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had in your entire life; by all means give yourself the credit you deserve.’ Grantaire swiped a hand across his forehead, anger radiating from his entire being. This was an unusual scenario for Enjolras, who was usually the one with the quickest temper. He merely watched as Grantaire sat back down, his head in his hands. When he spoke, his voice came out as a whisper. ‘Do you have _any_ idea what I went through?’

Enjolras knelt beside him, attempting to see Grantaire through his hands.

‘No, I don’t.’ He attempted to remain as calm as possible, his voice level and soothing. He played with his words inside his mind, attempting to find anything that could possibly make this okay. When in doubt, the truth was certainly the best option. ‘But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Nothing I can say or do will ever change the fact that I let you down. I should have stayed, and I should have helped. But you have to realise that I couldn’t physically watch you drink yourself to an early grave; I had to do something.’

‘Yeah, well look how great that turned out.’ His face was still covered but Enjolras could just make out the tears in his voice. If he didn’t already feel guilty, he did now. ‘I don’t blame you, you know.  I deserved it.’

As he lifted his head, he attempted a grin. Enjolras tried to smile in response but he couldn’t. Although Grantaire had been truly reckless and intolerable and quite frankly stupid, he was also his friend. Any amount of alcohol or arguments shouldn’t change that. _But it did._ Enjolras was the kind of person that revered goodness, justice and light, but in doing so he had turned away from the person who perhaps needed him the most. Yes, it was unintentional but then again, weren’t all the gravest mistakes?

‘How can you even – _no_ – you didn’t deserve it.’ As he looked at Grantaire’s tear stained face, he suddenly wished to take the past year and a half back. But as soon as the thought entered his head, he disregarded it. In the past year he’d done so much good with _Les Amis_. No _one_ person should come before that, not even Grantaire.

‘Come on, I was an asshole. You have to agree with that.’ Enjolras laughed in response, glad for the distraction. He patted Grantaire’s knee in an attempt to console him, but he was never very good with emotions. ‘I’m sorry too. I should have just called you.’

‘Look, I want you to stay here. I want to help you and for you to help with _Les Amis_. I know you’ve made some friends here and you seem almost appreciative of the cause and - ’

‘Woah, hold on a second. If you think even for a second that I’m here for any reason other than _you_ , then you’re a bigger idiot than I remember.’

Enjolras frowned, not quite knowing what Grantaire meant. Of course they were friends, but did he – no – it must be his imagination. Emotions were running high, it was completely understandable. Still, he blushed and cleared his throat, but his hand remained on Grantaire’s knee. _He needed to think clearly, and quickly._

‘I’m fully aware of your stance on anything remotely political, but I just thought that this might be something different.’ Enjolras stood and began to pace slightly, more confident in this current subject than any of the previous. ‘We’re not just another activist group, Grantaire. For one, we’re actually on our way to changing the current laws, to change the lack of - ’

‘Save your speeches for your groupies, I’m in.’ Grantaire smiled, wiping any remaining moisture from his face as he closed the distance between himself and Enjolras. His lopsided grin only widened as he continued speaking. However, his voice softened along with the mischievous glint of his eyes. On his part, Enjolras couldn’t quite make out the intended meaning. ‘I know you hate it, but I’m going to hug you now. Just a head’s up.’

As promised, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ neck. Although surprised, Enjolras responded by circling the other man’s waist, holding him almost hesitantly, as if he might break or disappear. He felt Grantaire rest his head against his shoulder as he tightened his grip slightly. Soft black curls ticked his face; he smiled in reply.

_Perhaps this wasn’t so bad after all._  

‘I missed you.’ Grantaire mumbled into his shoulder, his breath warming the skin under his loose jacket.

‘I missed you too.’ Enjolras bit down on his lip, a sudden flood of emotion hitting him straight in his chest. He was truly happy to have Grantaire back, but he couldn’t help thinking about the abandoned glass currently resting on the desk. _No._ An idealist at heart, Enjolras forced these thoughts away. Grantaire was completely fine; everything was completely fine.

He pulled back slightly, wanting to look Grantaire in the eye.

‘And we’re okay?’

‘We’re okay.’ Grantaire smiled in response, stepping back out of the embrace. His hand lingered on Enjolras’ shoulder when Eponine entered, clearly searching out the two missing members of their group.

‘Am I _interrupting_ something?’ She winked in Grantaire’s direction, causing Enjolras to scowl in response, any softness from the previous moments gone with a single blink. ‘Because if so I’m going to need to leave and get Jehan and Courf because they - ’

‘Eponine.’ Enjolras’ exasperated tone caused Eponine to grin as she continued speaking.

‘We’re about to discuss plans for next week, and I thought you’d want to be involved.’

‘Of course.’ He stepped around Eponine and into the main living area, taking a seat on the sofa next to Combeferre. Grantaire slid in beside him, nudging him with his shoulder quite intentionally. Enjolras was suddenly reminded of their weekly movie nights back in high school, where they’d devised a system of communicating through nudges and simple gestures just because they could. Many things had changed since then, although he wasn’t mistaken that particular nudge had been one of acknowledgement; a friendly gesture to reassure Enjolras that all was truly forgiven. 

‘I have one small item to bring to attention before we begin; Grantaire is now an official member of _Les Amis_.’ Enjolras smiled proudly, as Courfeyrac slow-clapped in the background.

‘Dude, we already know that.’ Courf laughed as Jehan playfully swatted him for his outburst. ‘What? He’s been with us for the past three weeks; he’s one of us now.’

‘Well, nonetheless I’d like to officially welcome Grantaire and - ’

‘Enj, Courf is right. He’s been a member ever since he tried to punch that officer guy in the face.’ Eponine high-fived Grantaire as they relived that particular memory, Enjolras shook his head in response. _Clearly_ , they’d forgotten what a completely senseless decision that had been. However, he let them have their fun, smiling as Jehan ruffled Grantaire’s hair from his position next to Courf, reprimanding him for not thinking about his own safety. Enjolras lightly nodded in agreement.

‘I have to say, I do rather like it here.’ Grantaire laughed as the group chattered about his various accomplishments.

‘That’s good because we weren’t actually planning on letting you leave.’ Eponine cackled as she flung herself onto Grantaire’s lap, tapping his head as she resumed her speech. ‘This is so much easier than kidnapping you and chaining you to Enjy’s bedpost.’

‘Well, in that case maybe I _should_ put up a little resistance.’ Grantaire went along with the well-natured joke as he circled one arm around Eponine’s shoulders, tugging at her long dark hair. Their relationship resembled that of an older sister and younger brother, Enjolras noted with some amusement. Grantaire used his one free hand to poke Enjolras in the chest. ‘How about it, Enj?’

Enjolras scoffed, seemingly unaware of the pink blush currently spreading across his face as began to speak of their next movements. As they planned, Enjolras observed the new group dynamic with a sense of approval. The room was alive with a mixture good-natured laughter and serious discussion.

_It seemed like Grantaire had truly been the missing component._


	4. Chapter 4

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the apartment, successful in its job of rising Grantaire from a deep sleep. His eyes opened and he blinked a few times to get used to the light that shone from the huge windows. Stretching his arms and groaning, he practically rolled off of his makeshift bed on the couch, the clothes which he wore as pyjamas wrinkled and starting to smell.

Once he stood, he saw the rest of _Les Amis_ all gathered in the kitchen. Jehan and Courfeyrac were bustling around the stove and fridge, occupied with making breakfast for everyone. Combeferre was pouring over a book, as always, and Joly was sitting next to him, writing furiously in a notebook. Eponine walked over, handing a cup of coffee to Combeferre before sitting at the counter with her own cup of tea.

‘Good morning, R.’ Joly nodded towards him. Grantaire half-waved, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and placing a kiss on Eponine’s forehead before sitting down next to her.

‘Nice to see the sleeping beast has finally awoken.’ Eponine quipped, looking at the mess of dark curls on Grantaire’s head.

‘Not everyone can be as gorgeous as you, Ponine. I do require my beauty sleep,” He answered with a smile. ‘What’s going on today? After this marvellous breakfast of course.” Jehan and Courfeyrac both expressed smiled, placing full plates in front of them.

‘Were you not listening at all last night? We went over all the plans,’ Jehan said.

‘I was too preoccupied admiring the beauty that you all are graced with.’ With a roll of her eyes and a smile, Eponine started explaining the plans for the day.

‘You, Courfeyac and I are going to be going out later on a supply run.  The medical supplies are running low, as are our food supplies. And we all agree that it high time you actually do something, ‘Taire.’ He shrugged, biting into his eggs. ‘Joly is writing down a list of medical supplies we need now, and Jehan already wrote up what we need for food. We’re leaving right after breakfast.’

‘I suppose I should shower then. I can’t go out smelling like a liquor store, now can I? It would give us a bad name.’ Grantaire shovelled the last of his eggs in his mouth; leaving his plate on the table and leaving the others continue discussing the plans.

Approximately twenty minutes later, Grantaire walked back into the main room of the house, dressed and ready to go. Eponine and Courfeyac were going over last minute plans, making sure that they had enough money for the trip and determining their individual tasks. Grantaire sauntered up behind them, sliding his arms around their shoulders.

‘Are we all set then?’ He asked, slightly excited for his first job as a real member of _Les Amis._ The other two nodded. They said their goodbyes, Courfeyac and Jehan sharing a kiss - which prompted a whistle from Grantaire - and Eponine giving hugs to Joly, Combeferre and Enjolras.

‘How about a kiss goodbye, Enj? What do you say?’ Grantaire requested, opening his arms. Their leader rolled his eyes, giving a simple _‘goodbye Grantaire’_ before turning back to his coffee. Pouting, Grantaire turned and walked away, wrapping his arm around Eponine’s waist as they exited the building. They got into the car, Courfeyac behind the wheel and Eponine in the front seat. In the backseat, Grantaire put his headphones in and closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the seat for a moment.

‘Wake up ‘Taire. We’re here.’ Eponine shook his shoulder; the sleeping man jerked awake, giving the woman a dirty look for waking him so violently. ‘You’re in charge of getting the food. Here’s $150 and a list of what we need; don’t spend it all on beer.’ She handed him a small notebook and an envelope. ‘Be back here in an hour.’ He nodded, playing his music once more as he walked into the grocery store. While he didn’t have much experience with shopping - ramen noodles and take out had always been his foods of choice - all he had to do was follow the little blue book.

He walked through the store, finding everything that was on the list and putting the required amounts into his grocery cart. He pulled into the checkout, paying for all of the items and walking out with his bags in hand. As he walked towards their rendezvous point, the unmistakeable sounds of a fight travelled to his ears, along with Eponine’s voice which trembled as if she was crying or near tears. Grantaire started running towards her voice, turning into an alley and dropping the bags as he saw what was happening.

At the end of the alley, Courfeyac was being punched and pushed around by a group of men while Eponine struggled from her place in between two of them. The attackers, who were all relatively bigger than Courfeyac, showed him no mercy as they kept pummelling into him. A sickening crack sounded when a fist connected with Courfeyac’s nose, blood pouring out. Eponine tried to scream, but one of the men holding her placed their hand over her mouth.

‘Ah ah ah, can’t have you alerting anyone, now can we?’ He said, pushing her up against the wall and moving dangerously close to her face. Your little group has caused a lot of problems for me and my friends here; you’re getting involved in things that don’t concern you, pretty lady. You complain about having to pay for college, but now we’ll make you pay in a different way.’ His hands travelled farther down, slipping underneath her shirt. A maniacal grin spread across his face, but was quickly changed as Grantaire’s fist connected with his jaw, sending his head smashing into the concrete beneath their feet.

The rest of their attackers looked over, rage spurred by seeing their friend knocked unconscious. Two of them came at Grantaire, who stood his ground, eyes blazing as he stepped in front of Eponine. A fist came at his face, connecting with his cheekbone and stunning him for a second. The other one held him down, landing blow after blow on his face. His vision blurred red as blood continued to run into his eyes.

‘I’m gonna scream!’ He heard Eponine yell, her voice quivering again. The fists stopped flying at his face and Grantaire vaguely heard one of their attackers address her.

‘Now don’t be like that love. We ain’t done nothing wrong; all we’re doing is protecting our rights.’ He took a step towards her, extending a hand. The second he moved in her direction, Eponine opened her mouth and let out a shrill scream. Their attackers retreated quickly, boots pounding on the pavement.

Grantaire rubbed his hands across his face in attempt to clear his vision of some of the blood. Shakily he tried to walk over to Eponine, who was curled over Courfeyac on the ground.

‘He’s breathing,’ she told him, ‘Unconscious, but breathing.’ Relief flooded through Grantaire’s system, though it quickly turned to worry as it registered how badly Eponine was shaking.

‘Ponine, are you okay?’ He stammered, putting her face in his hands. Warm tears fell from her cheeks, making trails through the blood.

‘I’ll live. Courf is who we should be worrying about. Can you drive?’ She struggled to control her voice and her body.

‘Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?’

‘No; if anyone is ever hurt, we don’t go to the hospital. We have Joly for that. Here, get him up.’ Grantaire crouched down next to her, placing one arm behind Courfeyac’s shoulders and the other underneath his knees. He hoisted the unconscious man up, struggling slightly but determined to make it at least to their car. Grantaire carried him out of the alleyway and towards their car, ignoring the gasps and looks of shock from people who were walking by. Eponine picked up the discarded shopping bags, ever practical in the chaos. Opening the door, Eponine got in the car before he laid Courfeyac across the seats, his head resting on her lap. As Eponine started singing quietly, ruffling her hands through the unconscious man’s hair, Grantaire ran around the car and to the driver’s side, starting the vehicle and following Eponine’s instructions back to the apartment. Every time her voice cracked, his heart broke a little more.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The atmosphere in the apartment was relaxed. Enjolras had learned to relish these moments of quiet and relative solitude; they were certainly far and few between. With three of the _louder_ inhabitants out for the day, he had decided to catch up on some reading for class. As a task, it required concentration – a concept many people seemed to underestimate.  Settling into his favourite armchair, Enjolras opened his book and began to read. He poured over the sentences, the words rhythmic and soothing to his terribly overactive mind.

Thirty minutes later, he was pulled out of his thoughts by Joly. The other man seemed near hysterical, breathing deeply in an effort to control his own panic as he spoke down the phone. Enjolras closed his book, marking the page with a scrap of paper on a near-by table. As he rose from the chair, he began to pick up bits of the conversation.

‘Okay, how long has he been out?’

‘I need you to take a deep breath and tell me exactly. No, no everything’s going –’

‘Is Grantaire hurt? Are you -’

‘Okay, okay. How far away are you?’

 _Oh._ _Someone was hurt._ Enjolras stood to attention; quickly shaking his head, an attempt to clear the shock from his system. He couldn’t afford to be out of action, he was needed. Enjolras twisted the sleeve of his shirt as he crossed his arms, too restless to stand still any longer. He silently hoped for the safety of his friends; it was clear one or more were injured but he didn’t know the extent.

He watched as Joly ended the conversation, putting down the phone with a slightly uneven sigh. He turned to Enjolras, running a hand though his already wildly messy hair.

‘They were jumped, Courf’s unconscious. Eponine _said_ she’s fine but I highly doubt that. Grantaire was hit, but he’s driving so I assume - ’

‘Where are they?’  Enjolras interceded, half-way out the door as he called back.

‘They’ll be here in five; I need to get my supplies.’

‘Go, I’ll find everyone else.’ Enjolras walked briskly through each room, gathering the remaining members of _Les Amis_ in the sitting room in less than a minute. He was strangely proud; they were so used to chaos that they became almost orderly when subjected to it. This was useful if not a little disconcerting – it was a mark of experience.

As he explained, Enjolras observed Jehan closely. His relationship with Courf would make this even tougher on him, if that was truly possible. Despite this, the other man remained as calm as possible, taking out his apparent stress on the pillow he clutched to his chest. His knuckles were almost as white as his face, Enjolras noted. Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder from his position behind the sofa, carefully masking any sense of panic he may be feeling. _He’d always been good at that._

‘Bahorel, Feuilly – go down and meet them. They might need help getting up the stairs.’

The two men solemnly nodded in agreement as they left the room. On his part, Enjolras was suddenly angered about the broken lift the apartment complex _claimed_ to not have enough funding to fix. He frowned, running a hand through his hair as he continued assigning tasks.

‘Combeferre, help Joly anyway you can. I’ll join you both in a minute.’

Combeferre squeezed Jehan’s shoulder before crossing the room to where Joly was stock-taking.

‘Jehan, I don’t know if -’

‘No, I need to help. Give me something to do.’

‘Come on, you can help make ice-packs.’ Enjolras stretched an arm out to the other man, helping him out of his seat. Jehan’s floral shirt and light denim jeans seemed to deeply contrast the underlying grief in his face. He bit down on his lip, almost drawing blood as he accepted the hand offered to him.

They managed to make four ice-packs before Feuilly flung open the door, holding it open for Bahorel, who carried Courf into the apartment. Joly rushed over, supporting his head as he laid his patient on the kitchen table – the only space large enough, and also flat enough to hold Courf. Eponine, supported by Grantaire trailed in slightly afterwards; a bloody mess of cuts and newly-developing bruises. Grantaire closed the door behind him before whispering in Eponine’s ear, a tired and gruesome smile forming on her features.

‘Are you good here?’ Enjolras asked as Combeferre and Joly worked on Courf, one man cleaning any open wounds, the other examining his head thoughtfully. Combeferre nodded absentmindedly before glancing across the room at the other two casualties; he waved a hand in their direction, signalling for Enjolras to attend to them.

To be quite honest, Enjolras was shocked at Courf’s condition. It was far beyond his expertise, he would be of more use elsewhere. Joly was the only one capable of dealing with an injury of this calibre.

_It was bad, very bad._

He quickly made his way over to Grantaire and Eponine who were standing, merely watching the scene unfold. He slipped an arm around Eponine’s waist, catching Grantaire’s arm as he did so. The man hissed absentmindedly; although from pain or protectiveness Enjolras didn’t know.

‘I’ve got her, you need to sit down.’ Grantaire unwillingly nodded, untangling himself from Eponine as he did so. They made their way to the sitting area. Enjolras carefully placed a rather battered-looking Eponine into the armchair he’d previously vacated. _She looked like she could use some comfort right now._ He ran over to the kitchen, grabbing two of the four ice-packs, some bandages and damp cloths.

He attended to Eponine first, holding an ice-pack to her jaw.

‘Can you hold this?’

‘ _I do have arms, Enj.’_ It was a mumbled response; unclear and gravelly. Enjolras shook his head, frowning as he wordlessly placed his friend’s hand where it was needed. Eponine grinned, her teeth red with blood as she attempted to roll her eyes. He ignored her effort at humour, turning to Grantaire.

He wasn’t as bloody as Eponine, but his eye was half-closed and starting to swell. The purple area surrounding looked painful and tender. Enjolras picked up the remaining ice-pack and gently held it against the affected area.

‘What happened?’ His voice was restrained, level. The words seemed cut off and distant from his current thoughts as he attempted to restrain his growing anger. It wasn’t fair to take hit out on his friends; they were the victims. He simply couldn’t understand what another human being could expect to gain from inflicting senseless pain on unsuspecting individuals. _It was wrong, unjust._ With every thought, his irritation grew. He wanted nothing more than to find the culprits, _make them pay_.

‘Humanity.’ Grantaire winced as Enjolras’ absentmindedly pressed the ice-pack closer to his face, his calm façade slipping momentarily as he did so. He mumbled an apology as Grantaire moved his hand back a few millimetres, hesitantly touching Enjolras’ hand with his own slightly bloodied one. He sighed before relaying the story. ‘Three men jumped Ponine and Courf; I got there a few minutes after. Courf was already down; two of them were just throwing punch after punch and it was – and then Eponine was – Jesus, Enjolras I thought they were going to -’

He broke off, pushing the ice-pack and by extension, Enjolras’ hand, from his face. 

‘They had her pinned down, they were _touching_ her and I thought they were going to – you know?’ He didn’t have to say it; Enjolras fully understood. Grantaire stared at the wall behind his head, seething. His hands formed fists in his lap, causing the cuts on knuckles to bleed once again.

 Enjolras reluctantly nodded, as he looked over at Eponine. He could almost feel the rage inside him growing; a physical extension of himself. He bit down on his lip, trying to suppress it as he moved over to Eponine once again, kneeling directly in front of the chair. This wasn’t a situation Enjolras knew how to approach, then again did anyone? The prospect of sexual abuse was simply unthinkable – he didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if Grantaire hadn’t reached them in time. His stomach dropped at the thought, his very consciousness recoiling in detest for the _monsters_ responsible.

‘I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m fine.’ Eponine’s voice wavered on the last word. _Not exactly convincing._ However, Enjolras respected her wishes. It should be her choice, of that he was sure. He wasn’t going to pry or insist, it would only result in Eponine feeling objectified. Squeezing her knee reassuringly, Enjolras rose and made his way over to Combeferre, who was observing Joly in his practise. It seemed he too had realised Courf was beyond his knowledge and had resigned to comfort Jehan, who was silently crying; clutching Courf’s hand as Joly worked.

‘Can you spare a moment?’ Enjolras knew Combeferre would be the best person to attend to Eponine. His calm and reassuring presence might soothe her enough to open up, feel more comfortable. Sparing a glance at Jehan, he nodded, motioning for Feuilly to take his current position.

As they walked Enjolras explained in hushed tones, Combeferre didn’t say anything. He merely nodded, his face growing whiter by the second. Pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, he silently moved toward Eponine. Placing a hand on her back caused her jump; he could see she was putting on a brave face but then again that was Eponine. _She detested showing weakness._ However, as Combeferre cleaned her cuts with some antiseptic and a clean cloth, she seemed to relax into their conversation. This was a comfort to Enjolras; he’d clearly chosen the right person for the job.

Sure in the knowledge that both Eponine and Courfeyrac were in the best possible hands, he looked to Grantaire.  He was sitting alone, staring at the same wall with an expression of utter hatred. Whenever someone approached he grinned almost mechanically, as if his body was on autopilot. Enjolras approached, bringing a small bowl of warm water to clean the other man’s lesser wounds. The ones on his knuckles would definitely require a bandage, he noted.

‘Are _you_ okay?’

‘Never better, you should see the other guy.’ Grantaire looked up; twisting his swollen face in one would have resembled a smile. As Enjolras silently began work on his cuts, Grantaire gave a bitter laugh. ‘I gave him a face full of concrete.’

‘Good.’ His jaw clenched, focusing on the task at hand.

‘What’s this, _Enjolras_ condoning violence? I feel like I just entered some strange alternate universe and nothing makes sense anymore.’ His words were drawn out, forcibly casual. _Typical Grantaire_ , trying to put everyone else at ease.

‘It was necessary.’ Enjolras nodded, picking out the tiny pieces of grit on the surface of the cut. As he finished, he gave them one last wash before winding a tight bandage around his friend’s hand.

‘Glad to have your approval, captain.’ He flexed the newly bandaged limb, bringing it to his head in a salute. Enjolras rolled his eyes, performing the same process on his other hand. ‘By the way, there’s $150 worth of shopping in the car. Everyone else seems to have forgotten, but I performed my task well. _And_ I only spent half on alcohol, I promise.’

When Enjolras didn’t respond right away, Grantaire laughed to himself.

‘I was joking.’

‘So you didn’t spend half of our weekly income on unnecessary beverages?’

‘No, of course not.’ Enjolras looked up, eyebrows raised. He knew Grantaire well enough to automatically expect a punch-line. ‘I spent it all on _completely necessary_ beverages.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes. I’m quite irresponsible, I’ll have you know.’

‘Believe me, I’m aware _._ ’

Of course, Enjolras knew that Grantaire was joking. He almost found their banter comforting; something familiar in the current haze of chaos and hurt. Feigning irritation was easy, something he could do in his sleep. _Being friends with Grantaire had that effect._

Having finished cleaning the other man up, Enjolras stood. He noticed the slight commotion occurring in the opposite corner of the room; Courf was awake. Breathing a sigh of relief, he made his way over; slotting himself in between Jehan and Bahorel.

Courf, despite spending the past twenty-five minutes perfectly unconscious; attempted a smile. Enjolras suspected that he was trying to reassure Jehan, whose head was currently buried in Courf’s chest.  Joly was trying to force Courf to drink some water, to get him reacquainted with the world. He found himself smiling, thankful that everyone – although decidedly battered – would eventually be okay. Enjolras couldn’t help thinking that he should have been there with them; maybe the extra person would have made a difference.

_He should have insisted on going._

_No._

Enjolras mentally reprimanded himself; he couldn’t focus on ‘ _should_ ’ – he needed to move the group forwards, move them in the direction of ‘ _will’._ No amount of guilt or grief would ever change what happened today, this he knew.  He made an internal memo to himself to send out more people in the event of stocking; clearly safety was an issue. He couldn’t change the reaction of certain individuals, but he could ensure that extra security measures were taken.

_It was the least he could do._


End file.
